Subway Writers

A girl. Black hair. A black coat. Bangs. A blue tote-bag. Manhattan. Discomfort. Headphones. Mobile phones. Curled in close to themselves to avoid touching strangers. "Helping you get where you need to go." Readers. A seat apart. Precautious balance. A girl. A book. A pen. Reviewing. A makeshift desk made of a backpack. A diary. A green beanie. Torn jeans. Concentrated. Notetaking. Writers. A Lady. Another beanie. A trench-coat. Red sneakers. Squished between two unfamiliar bodies. Stale orange seats. Crossword puzzles. Determination. A face obviously conditioned to the overwhelming mass of bodies surrounding it. Black. Posture. A sign of resignation. Folded hands. A sign of familiar discomfort. Nervousness. "Improving, non-stop." Focused. A head rested in the palm of a hand. A book in a lap. Distraction. Imagination. Lost in a fantasy. City maps. A man. Crowded. Bundled in layer upon layer. Unease. Lost in the act of writing. Another makeshift desk made from a backpack. Eyes downcast. Hunched over the mound of fabric that bubbles in front of his face. Written notes. Newspapers. A kid. Leaning over a book in their hands. Dim green lighting. "Uptown & Downtown." A man. Writing. Absorbed. A ring on his finger. A hat on his head. A beard. A coat. Satisfaction. Simultaneously dull and vibrant yellow seats. An empty train. Open seats. Standing. Room to cross legs. Room to write freely without disruption. Unaware. Posters. A train platform. The Subway. Train tracks. Passengers staring at their phones. Unnatural lighting. Waiting. Frustration. Underground air. Bench chairs. Bins. Vending machines. "Exit."